BEING A FAN of President Trump automatically makes me a Nazi, a racist, yada-yada, according to many who vote these days for the Democrat Party. Many, but not all.
I put folks who still vote for Democrats* in one of two categories:
- Nasty people, a loud and sometimes violent minority.
- Well-meaning, naive people, the majority, calmer but out of touch.
I’m here to tell you a tale and, simultaneously, toot my own horn. Let us title what follows: Good Deeds by a Nazi. It will be fun.
In the late 1990s, I did volunteer work in Houston with two agencies. One was Meals on Wheels. Since I worked evenings at the newspaper, my days were free, so I delivered meals to the needy who, more often than not, were (egads!) black!
What was I thinking?
One in particular became my favorite, a 99-year-old woman who lived alone in a shotgun house in a ghetto abutting downtown. Even on days when I was not delivering her meal, I would sometimes stop by her house, and we would sit on the front porch a spell.
She enjoyed that a lot. She had virtually no visitors, having outlived all her friends, and her relatives were not worth warm spit.
At times I would buy her food on my own dime, and I’d wrap it in foil at her house, and put it into her freezer. Once the two of us went to a high-end seafood restaurant on the South Loop. It overwhelmed her, and most of her plate went home in a doggy bag.
I ate all mine, however. It was very good. I have a photo of her sitting in the passenger seat of my green Ford Ranger pickup on that very day. She dolled herself up for the occasion.
For her 100th birthday, I got a large number of my newspaper coworkers to send cards. Many included cash gifts. She received so many that she opened only a few. One wonders how much money she left in that pile of envelopes in her spare bedroom which was full of all manner of junk. She died soon after her 100th.
My other volunteer post was working at an agency that employed retarded people, oops, I mean mentally challenged. It gave them a purpose and maybe they earned some cash. I don’t remember.
What we did was cane chairs.
I was one of two or three normal people who did both caning — I had to learn — and supervising of the other people, the ones down a few steps on the ladder of mental acuity.
They were exceptionally nice people. Some were only slightly challenged. Others were severely disabled.
But they could all cane chairs.
We had a Christmas party in 1996, which is when the photo was shot at the top. The group includes both the retarded folks and the normal ones. I played Santa.
It was a good time, even for a Nazi.
* * * *
* I long did, but it was different back then.
(Note: One day, making my Meals on Wheels rounds, a guy ran a red light and creamed me in my Ford Ranger pickup. The truck was quite caved in on the driver’s side, but I was not hurt. The other driver was very contrite. A year after the accident, he phoned me and asked how everything had turned out, which I thought was very nice. Another of those damnable black people too! A Nazi can’t get a break.)